


The Big Questions

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin discovers why Regina is always in such a bad mood... by hijacking her wardrobe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Fyrie prompted 'Stockings, and not on Belle', and on one of Robert Carlyle's twitter nights he said something about the pair of them swapping wardrobes. So this happened. I regret nothing.

Rumpelstiltskin was never one for asking the big questions.

He was no a philosopher or poet, was never a deep thinker. He saw what he wanted, and then worked as simply or intricately as is needed to get the job done.

And so there were only a few questions he’d ever really asked in his life. Beyond _where is my food coming from tomorrow?_ and how _can I manipulate this person to benefit myself?_

The first no longer mattered after he stole a dagger, and made a deal he had no hope of truly understanding. He hadn’t questioned the words of a beggar, who had been so eager and so helpful. He hadn’t questioned his fate after his first murder, the first blood on his hands, when he saw golden scales creep and shiver up and across his skin.

His magic felt like fire and water in his veins, but he never questioned why.

His first question was _can Baelfire ever truly be safe?_ , and the answer – when it came, as these answers often do, on the tip of a blade, and soaked in blood tinted water – was a resounding _no_.

The second question, born from six months training a spoilt but somewhat sweet teenager and decades of regretting every moment of it, had been answered with a snap of his fingers.

Rumpelstiltskin had never been a creature plagued by empathy, or concern for his fellow men. But even he had to feel a stab of sympathy for Regina after this experience. Because what kind of mental torture must haunt the poor witch, if she chose to dress like _this_?

He did a little spin in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and winced again at the way the black velvet and steel corset dug into his ribs.

And he didn’t even have hips to speak of.

He winced to imagine how this get-up must feel on a woman, with curves and flesh to be cut and squeezed.

The skirt and stockings were marginally better, but the boots were something else altogether. Who in the name of all the Gods decided that steel-tipped, five-inch spiked stilettos were even close to a good idea?

His second question, born out of word that Regina had slaughtered the livestock of another village, stolen another first born, in her first month as Queen, had been _What could possibly be making her so irrationally angry all the time?_

The answer, it seemed, was in her wardrobe.

He did a pirouette on the spot, and the way the skirt swished was a little gratifying.

His grin only intensified at the way Regina was glaring at him, all flaming death and bloodstone vengeance. “Enjoying yourself, dearie?”

“Rumpelstiltskin…” she stalked toward him, growling. But it was hard to be at all intimidated when his pants were way too short, and his shirt was bagging, and her hair was a wild mess all around her face, “Give me my dress back _now_.”


End file.
